


Get it Right

by winterisakiller (sparkinside)



Series: Drabbles and Requests [5]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Tom is a good guy, Tumblr Request Fic, Unplanned Pregnancy, angst with an ambiguously happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkinside/pseuds/winterisakiller
Summary: Clara met Tom at a party on New Years ages ago. He was a friend of a friend, in her hometown for a play. She was captivated by him from the beginning, he was not. Through an chance encounter days after their first meeting a quiet friendship blossomed. And friendship it remained until one drunken night brought about a change neither of them could have predicted.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Clara Mayfield (OFC), Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Drabbles and Requests [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697677
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	Get it Right

[ ](https://ibb.co/NZbmqcq)

“We’ll figure this out,” Tom whispered, pushing the lock of hair that had fallen concealing Clara’s face. She leaned into the touch, an instinctive move she wouldn’t allow herself to question. She knew he meant what he said, he would do all he could to help them make this work. But was that fair to him?

They’d meant years ago, he was the friend of a friend at a small gathering for the New Year. She’d been taken with him almost immediately; the way his smile seemed to light the room, the way he gave every single person he spoke with his undivided attention, the warmth of his laugh. Everything about him commanded your attention and she had been no exception. They’d talked briefly that night, a pleasant but generic conversation. He was in town for a handful of months for a play. He was enjoying the city and all it had to offer. She told him in turn about her small, sometimes boring, job and traded ideas for him to seek out while he explored.

She had expected that to be it. As much as he had captivated her, she knew instinctive she hadn’t done the same for him. And that was fine, she hadn’t expected to. Besides she had those stolen moments of conversation to buoy herself. And with it, Clara let herself return to her life as it had always been.

Running into him again several weeks later at her local coffee haunt had been a pleasant surprise. Even more so when she realized that he recognized and remembered her. They spoke over coffee, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. When they parted this time, numbers exchanged, she refused to let herself think of it as anything more than Tom seeking out a friendly face in an unfamiliar city.

They stayed in touch throughout his remaining time in her hometown, meeting for coffee and on one occasion an impromptu movie night at her place. And they had kept in touch after he’d returned home. Tom had become a pleasant, friendly presence floating on the periphery of her life. Darting in and out of it as his time allowed. Their friendship had become something dear to her and he had learned to suppress, though not fully dismiss, the feelings she felt beyond that for him. It was better that way, for him and mostly for her.

He would stop over hers whenever he found himself in her city on his many travels. And she had come to cherish those stolen moments. Tom seemed to feel he could let his guard down around her, that he could be himself, and knowing this warmed Clara’s heart in ways she had no way of truly expressing.

All of that changed, however, one stupidly drunken night. He’d shown up at her door without warning. Clara had been in her most comfortable, and not at all stylish, sweats content to spend her free weekend vegging. It had been a long, grueling week at work and she was desperate for the chance to unwind. When the knock sounded at her door at half past eight, she’d been confused. She hadn’t ordered food nor had she been expecting company of any sort.

Confusion and shock painted her features when she opened the door and found Tom standing there, a look of weary exhaustion and quiet hope painted on his features and a bottle of Jameson in his hand. “Sorry to crash in on you like this….I was nearby and I just…I needed a break.”

She ushered him inside with a warm, understanding smile and pushed down the panicking part of her that was mortified to be standing before him in ratty sweats (thank god she’d put on a soft though worn sports bra). He took no time accepting her invitation and quickly made his way inside.

“Thank you, darling. I know I’m being terribly rude. But I brought this to hopefully ease your ire with me.” He held up to bottle with a sheepish grin. Clara shook her head, laughing, and took the bottle. She made a quick pit stop into the kitchen to grab two glasses and joined him on the couch (where he had chosen to settle).

Once the bottle was opened, it had taken several glasses for him to relax enough to unload his troubles. Clara listened and offered her support and advice. Tom smiled at her before pulling her into a brief, but impossibly tight, hug. “Thank you for listening to me rant and rave at you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ve done the same for me, Tom,” she answered, hoping she could excuse the color in her cheeks as the flush of alcohol and not from the feel of his body against hers. “What else are friends for?”

They spent the next few hours drinking, laughing and talking. Clara enjoyed the pleasant, warm buzz of intoxication, both from the spirit she was drinking far too much of and from the company. Midnight came and went and by two in the morning they were both very much in their cups. Even now, Clara couldn’t say for sure which of them had crossed the line that had been drawn so firmly between them. But suddenly, it seemed, they were kissing, Tom pressing her overheated body into her couch. Her fingers were buried in his hair.

Clothing was shed as they stumbled their way into her small, untidy bedroom. Hands, lips, tongues. A blur of sensation overwhelmed them and Clara was lost. This was a dream come true. Something she had never dared to hope for. Something she knew, even then, would never be more than this.

Tom’s quiet, heartfelt apologizes later that morning when the sun was fully risen and the freedom of alcohol had faded, stung but she accepted with as much grace as she could muster. He was never going to be hers, Clara knew that. And she could accept that this was all they would have. Tom seemed relieved at her understanding and insistent that this not be the end of their friendship. She smiled at him and told him of course it wouldn’t be.

He’d left and slowly things trickled back to normal. The first phone conversation they shared after was awkward but once that hurdle had been cleared, they seemed to slip back into their friendship as if nothing had changed. Work and life demands kept their contact sporadic at best. Clara launched herself back into her work and into the quiet life she shared with friends and family. Thoughts of that night never fully left her but she had been able to accept and to move on.

And she had until one morning, months later, everything came crashing around her ears. She’d been feeling off for weeks, frequently nauseated in the mornings and overly tired. She convinced herself it was just a really lousy bug she couldn’t seem to shake but after the third week of running to the bathroom at work because the smell of her coworker’s coffee or lunch, she knew she would have to do something. Booking the appointment with her local GP had been easy enough and though she hated needles, she’d consented to every test suggested.

When the results came back two days later Clara felt her world tilt on its axis. Pregnant. She was pregnant. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the baby she carried was Tom’s. He’d been the only person she’d been with in nearly six months. One stupid, drunken night and she was pregnant. Bile rose in her throat as she realized she had to tell him. This wasn’t something she could brush under the rug, something she could hide. And he didn’t deserve that. He deserved to know what was happening.

She knew Tom, knew he would be shocked, yes, but not angry. If anything he would be overly accommodating and she wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. They were friends and nothing more in his eyes, he had made that clear as kindly as he could the morning after they’d…happened. And she accepted it. Understood it even.

But this…This would change everything and Clara wasn’t sure she could handle that. She made the call anyway that evening. Once she was settled at home and hoped he was settled enough wherever he was.

Tom had answered on the second ring, a smile in his voice. “Clara, my darling girl, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

She told him in a rush of words, so unlike the calm, cool way she’d rehearsed in her head a dozen times before she’d actually garnered the courage to connect the call. His stunned silence sent the nerves in her stomach fluttering. He asked her calmly to repeat herself and when she did she heard his audible swallow as he seemed to take in the news.

“Are you sure?”

Yes, she answered, she was sure. She had the paperwork from her doctor verifying it in her hand. She worried the paperwork as she spoke, trying to will her nerves into submission. They talked briefly before he’d ended the call. Clara was left sitting on the couch, staring at the blank screen of her phone, wondering just what the hell she was going to do.

A pounding on her door woke her the following day and she stumbled awkwardly to her feet and towards the door. Still fuzzy with sleep, it took her tired brain several moments to process the fact that Tom was standing, tired and anxious, in her doorway. She blinked up at him in confusion. “Tom what are you…?”

He smiled softly at her and said, in way of answer, “I couldn’t not talk to you in person about this.”

Clara stepped aside, mouth still hanging open, and let him inside. Tom took her hand and led her to the couch. He was so warm and gentle in his care that she fought to quell the tears threatening to burn in her eyes. He was a good man, a kind man…But he wasn’t her man, and having his baby wouldn’t ever change that. She knew it.

She leant forward, torn between wanting to laugh and cry at the mess she’d found herself in. All the while Tom sat beside her, promising that she wouldn’t be going through this alone. He would take care of her and their baby. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised again, pushing her hair behind her ear and smiling warmly at her. “You’re my dearest friend and I promise you, we’ll get through this.”


End file.
